CHAPTER 453: BENEATH (3)

Lindarion’s eyes glowed brighter, golden runes tracing across his arms as he unleashed divine and void energy in perfect balance. The clash of opposites burned away the tendrils, leaving only smoke and silence behind.

Then, faintly, a voice emerged from within the fading shadow, weak, but resolute. Balance... restore...

Lindarion lowered his sword slowly, breathing steady. "I will."

The light faded completely, leaving the ruins dark once more. Only the faint pulse of the World Tree’s mana remained.

Ashwing exhaled shakily. "That thing was half-dead already. You think it was warning us?"

Lindarion looked toward the root-veined walls, where traces of dark mana still writhed faintly. "No. It was remembering."

He turned toward the exit, his expression unreadable. "And something else remembers with it."

As they stepped back into the light, the air above the ruins shimmered faintly. For just a moment, the canopy of Lorienya dimmed, like the forest itself holding its breath.

Far away, beneath the earth where roots met stone, something vast began to awaken, drawn by the light of the one who had disturbed its slumber.

The light returned in fragments, weaving through the ancient canopy like hesitant fingers. Lorienya’s air carried that heavy calm that follows an unseen quake, as though the world itself refused to acknowledge that something deep beneath its roots had just stirred.

Lindarion stood at the forest’s edge where the corruption had met his blade, silent save for the slow exhale that fogged in the cool morning air. Ashwing perched on his shoulder again, wings tucked close, tail twitching like a nervous ember.

"Are we going to tell anyone about that thing?" the dragon finally asked.

"No," Lindarion said simply. "Not yet."

Ashwing huffed. "You always say that when the answer should be yes."

"Because panic feeds faster than truth." His gaze lingered on the horizon, a glint of gold through the green. "And we don’t know what we faced yet. Only that it wasn’t supposed to still exist."

They walked back toward the heart of Lorienya, the forest shifting subtly as they passed, trees bowing almost imperceptibly, leaves turning toward him like the forest recognized its kin. The air was thick with the scent of sap and life.

When they returned to the city proper, the sound of training drifted from below: the rhythmic clang of steel, the chants of commanders. Nothing had changed here, not the laughter of elven children, not the warm light cascading through woven branches. But Lindarion’s silence carried through him like frost beneath his skin.

He climbed the steps to one of the upper terraces where the council often gathered. Several high captains and attendants were already there, speaking in hushed tones about patrol routes and supply exchanges. When they saw him, conversation fractured instantly.

"Prince Lindarion," one of the elders said, bowing deeply. "We were told you left the city early this morning."

"I did," Lindarion replied. "I went west. To the old glades."

A ripple of unease crossed the group. The eldest captain, broad-shouldered, his braid streaked with silver, frowned. "Those woods are forbidden for a reason, my lord. The blight there still sleeps beneath the soil."

Lindarion’s expression didn’t change. "It isn’t sleeping anymore."

That silenced them. Even the wind seemed to pause between the branches.

"What do you mean?" another asked quietly.

"I found remnants of a guardian," he said, voice steady but edged. "An echo of the old roots, one corrupted by something that predates your history. It’s dead now, but its energy was being siphoned."

The captain’s frown deepened. "By what?"

"That," Lindarion said, turning toward the distant western horizon, "is what we need to find out before it finds us."

Ashwing stirred uneasily on his shoulder, muttering low enough that only Lindarion could hear. "You’re starting to sound like your father again."

Lindarion’s eyes flickered gold. "Then let’s hope I don’t die like him."

The room went still. The words had slipped quieter than he intended, but they hung there all the same, heavy, undeniable.

After a long silence, the elder bowed his head slightly. "Then what would you have us do, my prince?"

Lindarion didn’t answer immediately. He walked to the edge of the terrace, looking out across Lorienya’s vast expanse. The World Tree’s light pulsed faintly in the distance, steady and alive. Beneath that, the living city breathed, unaware that beneath their feet, the roots trembled.

"Double the western patrols," he said at last. "No one goes alone. And send scouts deeper into the old glades, but not beyond the first ruins. The corruption feeds on mana, the less we give it, the better."

"And what of you?"

"I’ll return there," Lindarion said quietly. "But not yet. The roots aren’t done whispering."

The elves exchanged uneasy looks, but none dared question him further.

As the council dispersed, Nysha appeared from the stairway shadows, her cloak trailing like liquid night, crimson eyes narrowing as she approached. "You went without me again," she said flatly.

"You were asleep," Lindarion said.

"You didn’t try to wake me."

"I didn’t want you near that place."

Her jaw tightened. "I’ve fought beside you through worse. Don’t patronize me."

Lindarion turned his gaze toward her — calm, unreadable. "If I had wanted your help, I would have asked. But what I faced wasn’t something you could have fought. Not yet."

"Not yet," she echoed bitterly. "You always say that, like you’re waiting for us to catch up to something we can’t even see."

He didn’t respond. Silence settled between them, thick as the forest’s humidity.

Then Ashwing yawned loudly, hopping down to the railing. "You two are going to make me molt early if you keep staring at each other like that."

Nysha’s glare softened slightly despite herself. "You spoil him."

"He’s spoiled himself," Lindarion said, brushing a hand along the dragon’s head.

Ashwing preened. "I’m a masterpiece, not spoiled."

That finally broke the tension, if only slightly. Nysha turned her gaze toward the horizon. "What do you plan next?"

Lindarion’s answer came after a long pause. "We prepare. Quietly. I’ll need to speak to the Ironbarks again, if something is feeding on the World Tree, then even Lorienya’s peace is borrowed time."

Nysha’s expression darkened. "You think it’s connected to Dythrael?"

His golden irises caught the afternoon light, gleaming like twin suns. "Everything that stirs the roots eventually leads back to him. Whether directly or not, he’s the shadow at the end of every path."